Medium and Balance
by singingstarryknights
Summary: Greg and Sara attend Nora’s senior showing in an art gallery in Chicago. Number 33 in the Ducks in a Row Series. GregSara.


Medium and Balance

…

Greg and Sara attend Nora's senior showing in an art gallery in Chicago.

…

Number 33 in the Ducks in a Row Series

…

"Its…blue." Sara pursed her lips, shifting her weight and tilting her head, casting a gaze at the painting before her again. She stepped back a few paces, thinking that perhaps she needed to take in the artwork in its entirety.

No, it was still blue.

This was useless.

"It's going for 10K, Nora said. Some CEO wants to redecorate his office off this. Something about blue being calming." Greg tried to remain serious, tilting his head to try and understand what was so profound about a three-foot blue dot on a four-foot tall canvas. He'd never understand modern art. Too bad, too. Ten G's sounded good to him.

"Not calming, so much as looming. It looks like it's going to pop off the canvas." Sara bit her lip as a few of Nora's classmates walked by, talking excitedly about the incredible depth in the blue dot piece. She stepped closer to Greg, taking hold of his arm.

"Well, whatever it is, it'll keep her in business." He squinted, trying to read the caption posted beside the painting.

'_Peace'_

'_How good bad music and bad reasons sound _

_when we march against an enemy.'_

–_Nietzsche._

He frowned, leaning into his wife and lowering his voice. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Got me. Whatever it is, it makes Nora happy." He nodded his head toward the rest of the elegant gallery, and Sara's fingers slid down his arm, tangling with his own, following as he lead her along to the next painting. Green. Fantastic. It wasn't that he wasn't proud of his daughter. He was. A man in a tuxedo offered them glasses of champagne from a tray, and Greg plucked out two, handing one to his wife, thanking the attendant quietly. He was going to need it, if he was going to be looking at blue dots all night. He just didn't understand.

Maybe this was how she felt about him and Sara, when they got going about science. He looked around, smiling proudly as he heard a pair of older women commenting on the phrasing of color in the collection of religious paintings that hung a few yards away. Notably, he saw, they were of the Nordic tradition. They weren't overly religious, really, but he was pleased to see she had embraced her ethnic roots. He wasn't entirely sure how colors could have phrasing, though. He was pretty sure words had that quality. He was dragged from his thoughts and from the piece of floor he was standing on as Sara lead him away to a few paintings of Urban Chicago, black and whites. He much preferred it when he could see the objects of her paintings, even if they were depressing. His gaze wandered to a portrait on the back wall, and he smiled broadly.

"Hey. Look familiar?" He nodded towards the sleek frame, watching his wife as she smiled delicately. Nick's broad smile lit up the canvas, only half of his face painted along one edge. The crook of his neck served as the center of the portrait, the soft black of a field vest, making the grayish white 'Stokes' protrude from the bottom left of the painting. Nora had captured the laughter in Nick's eyes, and the wattage in his soft smile lit up the dim of the gallery. Sara let go of his hand, crossing to the portrait of Nick, bending slightly to read the caption. Greg followed, sauntering along, his attention caught momentarily by the soft sway of her skirt, and the manner in which it hugged her curves. He shoved his hands in his pockets, squinting to read over her shoulder.

'_Cisco's Kid'_

_My mother's favorite cowboy._

It was clear that Nora loved Nick deeply, and watching Sara's reaction to their daughter's representation of their good friend caused his vision to blur gently with a few tears. Sara loved Nick, as well.

"He told Nora he couldn't make it." Sara turned reluctantly, almost, from the portrait before them, nodding.

"He said she was crushed. I don't think she told him about the portrait. She was going to surprise him." Sara grinned, weaving her fingers into his. "She's the one who's going to be surprised, though."

"Gotta love the new kid on Days, itching for the extra hours." Nick had called Sara a few hours ago, stating that he was on the next plane to Chicago, that Reynolds had agreed to cover his shift that night. And that neither of them were to say a thing to Nora.

It was, however, hanging beside a portrait of a nude woman with an exotic body, posed provocatively. Greg consciously reminded myself not to make naked-people jokes. It would only earn him a smack in the ribs. He couldn't help himself, however, when he read its corresponding title caption.

'_Seduction'_

…_and my father's contagious amusement._

"She's got you pegged, huh?" Sara pointed at the caption, smiling softly. God she was beautiful; the brown of her eyes glittered softly in the light. He bent, kissing her chastely. He couldn't help himself.

There were a few paintings of Jack, slouched against a chair, plucking out a tune on his guitar, one of him standing beside a window, the dawn light falling gracefully about his shoulders. His head was cocked back, and he was twisted, looking back out at them, the devilish smile balancing on his lip. Nora's expert use of color and shading made the muscles in his back come alive from under the plain white shirt he wore. Greg ran a hand through his unruly curls, squinting to read the caption.

'_Minor Key'_

I fell in love with a Vegas musician… 

He smiled politely, following as Sara pulled him away. His baby had fallen in love. He tried not to think about it too much; he didn't want to cry in the middle of the somewhat crowded gallery. Quickly he took a long sip from the champagne glass in his hand. A younger man, in his thirties, approached them, a friendly smile on his face.

"Hi. My name's Fred Hartman. I'm one of Nora's professors." He extended his hand to Sara, who shook it, fixing a polite smile to her features.

"I'm Sara Sanders, this is my husband, Greg. We're Nora's parents." Professor Hartman shook Sara's hand, and then Greg's, politely.

"Nora spoke of you often. I recognized your husband from some of her reference material." Greg wasn't sure what that meant, but he smiled politely, letting Sara handle the talking. "I'm so glad you could make it. Vegas is quite a distance."

"Well, this is quite an accomplishment. She's come along way from the finger paintings she used to bring home when she was little."

"Nora's one of the most talented painters I've ever worked with. She'll have a successful career, no doubt."

In the middle of the gallery were a dozen or so pedestals, each holding a sculpture or a working of metallurgy of some sort. Most of the abstract pieces had a note attached; they had been bought. Several collections of earrings and other such jewelry, too, were already spoken for, glittering under the fluorescent lights. Sara paused near a case, peering in, and instantly bringing a hand to her mouth to stifle her awe.

'_Spring and Fall'_

_For my parents, for Christmas… _

_Shh. Don't ruin the surprise._

In the glass case lay a ring with dull silver band, a tiny sapphire embedded along it's breadth. Leisurely swirlings meticulously crafted, etched into the silver, created an intricate design. Beside it, a dull silver chain, threaded through a tiny pendant holding a tiny emrald. Spring and Fall. May and September. She had made them complimentary jewelry, using the other's birthstones.

"Wow."

"They're beautiful."

Greg nodded, stepping around the corner and over to the next painting leisurely, leading his teary-eyed wife to the three-foot by eight-foot painting, splattered with vibrant colors. It covered the expanse of almost a whole wall of the alcove it was in, and made Greg grin broadly. He was glad she didn't limit her focus to the abstract movements of art.

At least with this one, he could clearly see his daughter's point.

And inspiration.

"Well then." It was a paneling, a series of four paintings, a chronological recreation of a photograph Nick had taken of Greg and Nora years ago. The first panel was the recreation of the actual photograph, one he knew to be among Sara's favorites. It had been taken when Nora was very young, and had just learned to walk. Greg had scooped her up from where she had been standing, and had tossed her into the air. The photo showed Greg having just caught his daughter, holding her above his head. She was giggling and squirming, and the younger Greg was bearing a broad, amused smile, not unlike the one he wore now. The figures were soft, rounded, the lighting delicate. Each unruly curl on Greg's head was carefully and meticulously brushed in. The shadowing was deep, each muscle in Greg's arm was vigilantly defined, each wrinkle and fold in his oxford shirt and jeans attentively painted. If memory served correctly, he had just gotten home from a double shift.

The second panel in the painting was Greg pulling Nora close, after catching her. Like sequencing, it was the next frame. Sara was amazed at how Nora displayed Greg's movements, however subtle, depicting his casual stance perfectly. She couldn't have remembered what Greg looked like when he was thirty-five, she was just a baby. The next panel showed Greg holding Nora against him, and pressing a playful kiss on her chubby baby cheeks. Her little hands and legs were flailing all over, but her face showed her gurgling and giggling happily, proclaiming a few sparse words. The final panel depicted Nora sitting against Greg's arm, her hand tugging gently on his curly hair. Greg's features were amused, but breaking into a grimace, anticipating the ache of the pull. It was perfect.

"Oh, Greg." Sara sighed, her attention caught completely by the elongated painting before her. The caption explaining the work contained two things; the actual photograph, sent probably by Nick, and a description that made her eyes water.

'_Daddy's Girl.'_

She turned to her husband, and pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his lips affectionately, pulling away after only a moment. He was a perfect father. Everything she could have ever wanted for her child. Everything she never had growing up. He slung an arm companionably around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her hair.

"This one's better than the blue thing, ten Gs or no." She broke into a chuckle, wrapping her arm snugly around his waist. How they had created such an amazing, talented artist, she would never know.

"It's not for sale." Both Greg and Sara turned at the sound of Nora's gentle voice, Sara quickly moving to embrace her daughter.

"It's so beautiful, Nora." Sara pulled away and stepped aside, letting her daughter walk into Greg's arms companionably. "This is amazing."

"Thanks." Nora pressed a loving kiss to Greg's cheek, and grinned her brand of Greg's mischievous grin, shrugging her shoulders. "I was homesick." Nora hugged her father tightly, leaning her delicate frame into his comfortably. "So whaddya think?" Nora stepped back, glancing at the painting in front of them, and then around the rest of the gallery.

"Oh, Rosie, it's amazing." Sara had found her vocabulary first, which was a good thing, seeing as his was lost at the sight of her.

His little baby was all grown up. That was it. Her elegant black dress wrapped snugly around her curves, falling gracefully to her calves with a timeless quality he was sure had been lost when Katherine Hepburn ceased to make movies. Her straight blonde hair had been cut stylishly, in layers that caused the bottoms to curl up, only just, wisps of blonde framed her delicate features perfectly, and the soft click of her elegant black heels made her look like his worst nightmare.

A grown up.

His baby girl, who's diapers he had changed, who's tears he had dried, who's slight frame he had once held in the crook of his elbow, who's scraped knees he had mended when soccer became cruel, now a stunning woman, sophisticated enough to make Catherine Willows proud, sliding into the upscale Chicago scene with a grace that would give even Cath a run for her money.

He turned back to the panels that made up the painting beside him, inspecting her work with an investigator's eye, searching for the comfort of the childhood of his only daughter. They had been happy then. Not that they weren't happy now, they were, but it was different now. A different kind of happy. Old man happy. The contentment she had captured on his features in each of the panels was an earlier edition of what he felt now. The anxieties were different. Then, he had been worried about kidnapping, and child molesters, and guns in schools. Now, he worried about rape, and abuse. Not that Jack would ever hit her. Or that she didn't know how to defend herself. Or that she wasn't strong. But he wasn't stupid. Or naïve. He saw it every day. Horrors like that paid her tuition.

"Nicky!" Nora's soft alto broke his thoughts, and he turned, and watched her brush past a few of her professors, and wrap her arms securely around Nick, who had just made his way through the entrance. He grinned widely, His eyes crinkling from years of smiles and laughs. The older man lifted his beloved niece effortlessly, swinging her around for a mere moment before placing her down again and pressing a loving kiss to her cheek.

"I heard you were kind of a big deal these days." Nora hugged him again, making him laugh. "Surprise." Greg clinked his glass against Sara's a silent toast to surprises and success.

"Who's minding the lab, then?" She looped her arm through his, letting him navigate them to where Greg and Sara stood, knowing smiles plastered on their faces.

"That's what we got rookies for. And the day shift. Don't you worry." He nodded a greeting to Greg, and leaned down to kiss Sara hello, before setting his gaze on the painting that had been birthed from one of his photographs. "Whoa."

"D'you like it?"

"I love it, Nora Rose. It's beautiful."

Greg had to agree. It was stunning. Everything was. She was an amazingly talented artist. He fell silent, taking in the four or five dozen people who were admiring his daughter's work. He spotted Jack, who paused a moment at Nora's side, handing her a glass of champagne, and kissing her cheek, before nodding a greeting his way. Greg waved, content to watch the younger man make his way back through the crowds, to give commentary of a few of Nora's pieces. He stepped back a bit, leaning against a bare bit of wall, taking in the whole scene. After several minutes, Sara led Nick to view his portrait, leaving Nora standing beside her father. She stepped closer, leaning against the space of wall next to the painting, resting her cheek against his shoulder companionably.

"Are you proud of me, Daddy?" She looked grown up, but the voice he heard was that of a little girl, home from her first day of school, and his vision blurred sharply, as he blinked a few tears away. He wrapped his arm around his daughter, pulling her close, and smiled, kissing her hair.

"I am, Rosie. I always am."

…………

A/N: two more to go. The end is nigh. I'm completely in love with Nora's character. Many, many outtakes are planned, though, so we won't be seeing the last of her for a long time. :: grins ::


End file.
